STAR OF THE MIST
For an hour, with the brown natives bending their stout backs to send
the canoes shooting forward, they glided along through the mist. It was
not raining hard--only a fine spray coming down. They were soaked to the
skin, but no one minded that for the air was warm.
Jack really enjoyed it. For a time at least they were free from danger.
The war seemed unreal and far away. It was as if they had left it behind
forever, and he almost wished he had!
He thought of the folks at home, of his father working harder than ever
because there was a war, of his mother doing her own work, helping the
Red Cross and selling bonds in a booth on Saturdays. It was all very
strange how a war started by a few very stupid men could change the
lives of more than half the people in the world--strange and terrible.
"Look!" Mary exclaimed suddenly. "A star!"
"Where?" Jack looked up.
"Not up. Over there!" she pointed.
"You wouldn't see a star through the mist in the daytime. You must be
dreaming," Jack protested.
"But look! Look closely! It's rather faint, but quite real. A white
star!" She was leaning forward, straining her eyes as if looking for a
vision.
"Yes," he agreed at last. "I see it."
"Star of hope," she murmured. "If you'd lived on that island for two
years as I have, you'd know what that means."
"Two years! You haven't been there that long! It's impossible!" He
stared at her in unbelief.
"Is it?" She laughed. "In this war anything is possible. Listen!" Her
face tensed with memories. "I was on Corregidor when we surrendered to
those terrible Japs."
"Corregidor?" Jack gasped. "Corregidor in the Philippines? Say!" His
voice dropped. "That's where the _Black Bee_, our carrier, is headed for
next."
"Corregidor!" It was her turn to stare.
"Well, not Corregidor just yet, but the Philippines--Mindanao, to be
exact."
"Oh! Take me with you!" she exclaimed softly.
"We're not on board ship yet," he smiled. "We're just hoping. But say!"
he exclaimed. "How'd you ever get way over here? Tell me about it, will
you?"
"Yes, sure I will." She leaned forward. "I was a nurse, and just before
the surrender I was told by a native that one of my best friends lay in
a boathouse somewhere along the shore. He was a flier and had been badly
wounded.
"I slipped away to find him." She drew in a deep breath. "I found him
and did what I could. He lived six hours." She paused to gaze away at
the sea.
"And in the meantime the fortress was surrendered?" Jack suggested.
"Yes." She went on. "That same native came all the way to tell me. They
were wonderful, those Filipinos!" She paused again, to stare away at the
white star that every moment grew closer.
"And then?" Jack prompted.
"The native told me that my friend's seaplane, all gassed and ready, lay
hidden in a tiny bay among the mango trees. I went there. I could fly,
not too well, but enough to keep going. I climbed in, started the motor,
then flew away from all that terror." She shuddered.
"I headed for America. Of course," she laughed, a sort of choking laugh,
"I knew I couldn't make it, not all the way, but I did want to be nearer
home if I had to die. You know--"
"Yes," Jack whispered. He knew. Every homesick American boy in all this
vast Pacific knew.
"I kept going," she continued. "I don't know how many hours I flew. Then
my gas ran low. The sun was bright. I dropped down low to discover a
dark speck on a broad sea. It was a large native canoe. I landed close
to them. It was my only chance."
"They took me in and brought me here. There had been missionaries on the
island, but they were gone. They liked me, those natives, because I
could roast a pig just right and make fine cakes," she laughed.
"Because the Japs might come at any time, the natives painted me up,
dyed my hair, and made me the daughter of the chief. And now," she drew
in a long breath, "here I am."
"Yes, and look!" Jack pointed. "There's your lucky star. It's on the
side of Ted's plane. It's going to bring luck to you after all."
He had spoken the truth. The star that had shone through the fog was the
white star on a blue circle that identifies American planes.
Their boatmen gave a few more lusty strokes, and they were alongside.
And there, sitting on the fuselage grinning at them, was Ted.
"I start out to rescue you." He laughed. "And now look! You come to
rescue me and my plane!"
"Is your plane badly damaged?" Jack asked anxiously.
"Not so far as I can see." Ted slid down into the canoe. "She's got a
few slugs in her. Her tail needs a bit of trimming. Three or four hours'
work should put her in shape."
"Then why didn't you taxi in?" Jack asked.
"Taxi? Move? Make a noise? Say!" Ted laughed hoarsely. "If you'd been
attacked by a flying freak as I was, you wouldn't even dare to breathe!"
"The jet plane got you," Stew put in. "That's what I thought."
"The what plane?" Ted stared.
"The jet plane," Jack grinned. "It's pushed about by a jet of hot
kerosene blown up into gas and mixed with air. We know all about it."
"Have you been flying it?" Ted questioned. "Perhaps that was you flying
it today! Well, if it was, I think I got your pal."
"You're not serious?" said Jack.
"Sure, I am. At least about that fellow falling out of the thing," Ted
grinned. "I got in a burst of fire back there in a cloud. Then when they
came down to shoot me on the water, this Jerry tumbled out. I sort of
figured he'd been hit and had gone crazy, or something."
"That's good news!" Stew exclaimed. "There were two Germans and three
Japs. Now there's only one German. We should be able to handle them.
They--"
"Jap--Jappie!" a grizzled giant among the boatmen broke in excitedly.
"You think Jappie on our island?"
"Sure, there are!" Stew insisted. "Three Japs."
"What you think, Mary Brown?" The old man turned to the girl. "Jappie on
our island? Maybe this boy he lie. What you think?"
"He isn't lying," Mary said in a steady voice. "Three Japs came on that
plane last time."
"Why you not tell me? I go kill them!" There was an angry and puzzled
look on the aged native's face.
"That's just it." Mary smiled soothingly at the old man. "You would have
tried to kill them. They would have killed you. They have machine guns.
You must not die, for you are my father."
"By-um-by I kill 'em." The old man settled back in his place. "They not
kill me. You see."
By this time Ted was looking from one speaker to another and then back
at Jack.
"What's all this?" he asked in a low tone.
"Well, first of all," Jack put a hand on Mary's shoulder, "let me
introduce Nurse Mary Brown. She's a native of the South Sea Islands from
Ohio."
"Kentucky," the girl corrected.
That called for a lot of explaining. Jack was only half through when
Mary exclaimed:
"Those beasts must have winged you!" She pointed to a splotch of blood
on Ted's sleeve.
"Only a flesh wound, really nothing." He tried to toss it off. "I didn't
even feel it at the time. I've sort of got it fixed up."
"That may be," said Mary, moving toward him. "But where I come from
wounds don't stay 'sort of fixed up.' That's too dangerous."
Producing a small first-aid kit from beneath her native dress, she went
to work.
"I'm going to get this war paint off as soon as I can," she confided to
Ted as she worked. From the tone of her voice Jack guessed that Ted had
made a hit.
"You look swell just as you are," Ted joked. "I doubt if I could stand
seeing you all whitened up and dressed in a nurse's uniform."
"You'll see me that way all right," was her reply. "I've got my uniform
safely hidden away beneath a palm."
"Huh!" Jack thought. "One more perfectly good mystery all shot to
pieces!"
For all this, he realized that life at the battle front had not lost its
interest. Mystery and adventure still lay before him.
Many questions remained to be answered. How had it happened that two men
who seemed to be British left the island in the jet plane, and five--two
Germans and three Japs--came back? Were those first two men Germans
posing as Britishers? Could they be renegade Britishers, traitors to
their country? Or were they loyal to their country, and had the jet
plane been stolen from them?
One more thing Jack wanted to know. Who had manufactured that plane? In
the scrapbook there had been articles in four languages, so it could
easily have come from any of these lands. Of one thing he was certain.
Give him a chance at it and he would fly that plane, first thing. And
did he want to try it? Oh man! Did he!
"Suppose it's a German plane of a design unknown to the Allies, what a
scoop it would be if I could drop it down on the deck of the old _Black
Bee_," he thought. "Even if it were an American-built plane, I would be
performing a great service if I snatched it from the enemy before they
had used it as a model." Yes, he must have that plane!
But first, he thought with a start, we've got to get Ted and his plane
ashore before this mist clears and that jet plane fellow is out after
us.
"How about getting this plane over to the island?" he demanded.
"All right. We got canoes. We pull 'em. No fly 'em," said the Chief.
"You fly 'em pretty soon."
"He got the idea," Ted agreed. "Let's go."
Lines were attached to the plane; then with a low chant the natives were
paddling in perfect rhythm and drawing the plane silently toward the
island.